


moonlight

by orphan_account



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Sleeping Together, reluctant confessions but still confessions regardless lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Cecil always slept in a fetal position. Camus had formerly been a back-sleeper, and Cecil would curl up to his chest and fall asleep to the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. Lately, though, Camus had begun sleeping on his side.
Relationships: Aijima Cecil/Camus, reiran is mentioned for like. 2 seconds
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrawberryParadise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryParadise/gifts).



> a birthday gift fic for a friend! (only three days late… or technically a year and three days late because i promised her one last year and she never got it? òwó)  
> this was my first time writing this ship, so i really hope i did okay!

Camus wasn’t the most affectionate person on the planet, but he had his moments.

Cecil knew all of this before they became an item, though, so he was never upset when Camus would bury a hand into his pocket in lieu of lacing it through Cecil’s, or turned his head to the side in response to a kiss and never returned it. Camus had different ways of showing affection, and Cecil was fine with that.

Besides, Camus thought Cecil never saw the small smile that graced his lips or the pink hue that spread across his cheeks after a kiss, but he always did.

Sleeping was no different - they shared a bed, but they wouldn’t fall asleep a tangled web of limbs like some of the other couples in the dorm (like Ranmaru and Reiji, who made a point of it to nap together out in the open and could _not_ keep their hands off each other for one holy minute). Cecil always slept in a fetal position. Camus had formerly been a back-sleeper, and Cecil would curl up to his chest and fall asleep to the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. Lately, though, Camus had begun sleeping on his side - the same side Cecil slept on. Cecil’s back would be pressed to Camus’ torso, and Camus wouldn’t wrap an arm around his whole body and pull him closer, but he’d rest a hand against Cecil’s hip, just so he could still feel him.

_It’s better this way. I can protect him._

One night in particular, Camus awoke at an ungodly hour, though he didn’t feel groggy. Instinctively, ice blue eyes flitted down to check if Cecil was still there. He was.

Camus smiled.

Most nights, unless he was completely exhausted, he would wait for Cecil to fall asleep before drifitng off himself. Partially due to protective instincts. Partially because he enjoyed watching Cecil sleep. This night, it was no different. He always looked so comfortable curled into himself, his soft, barely audible snoring more soothing to Camus than it was irritating. A sliver of moonlight seeped in from the window and coated his lax body, illuminating his bronze skin such that he seemed to sparkle. How did Cecil always manage to look so ethereal, in any situation? Whether he was asleep or onstage, his beauty was unmatched. Even the way he sipped his tea in the mornings would leave Camus in a daze.

“Aijima, are you awake?” the count whispered into the blue glow of their room, his husky voice competing with the howl of the wind outside. No answer.

He inched closer to him, a pale hand hovering over his still form. It trembled with hesitance - on the one hand, Cecil was so tempting. Camus felt like a small child at a museum, itching to reach out and run his hand along a priceless statue or painting despite there being a massive sign urging him not to. On the other, there was always the risk that his touches would rouse Cecil from his sleep, and his junior looked so sound and peaceful, Camus would be overcome with guilt if he were to disturb him.

(And embarrassment that he had been caught. But mostly guilt.)

Deciding to take the risk anyways, Camus let the knuckle of his index finger slide along Cecil’s jawline before coming up to his cheekbones. His skin was soft, unsurprisingly, and felt warm even in the bite of the nighttime air drifting in from their open curtains. His other four fingers soon joined as he found his hand reaching up towards Cecil’s hair, tracing abstract shapes through the dark, sleek locks. If he stood in the sunlight, anyone could very obviously tell that Cecil’s hair was a deep shade of brown, but it looked pitch black in the darkness of their room. Tentatively, Camus dipped his head down so his nose was buried in the crown of Cecil’s head. His own platinum locks fell and brushed across Cecil’s nose, causing the younger boy to flinch slightly at the tickling sensation. It took all of Camus’ strength not to chuckle.

Camus inhaled, drinking in Cecil’s scent. He had a citrus-like aroma to him, coupled with warm springtime air from his time spent outdoors that day. Cecil smelled good. Camus felt like he could get drunk off that smell.

“I love you, Aijima,” he breathed. And he did. He didn’t want to say it to the other man’s face, not yet. But it felt so right to say it, even if only to himself. He knew with every fiber of his being that he loved this boy. Likely more than he had ever loved anything else. He was completely confident in this fact.

Camus settled back down against him, still maintaining the small distance from before but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from Cecil’s body. He put a hand to Cecil’s waist again - if Cecil were to disappear in the middle of the night, he would know. He would feel it.

He drifted to sleep soon after. What he did miss, though, was how Cecil beamed, his eyes still squeezed shut, and pulled his hands closer to his chest, balling them into tight fists.

* * *

The next morning, Camus sat at the table drinking thick, sugar-heavy tea from a ceramic cup and taking bites of a layered vanilla cake while leafing through the morning newspaper. He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a panicked Cecil bounding down the stairs.

“Going somewhere?” he inquired, raising a brow as he watched the younger man franctically push his arms into a jacket, the sleeves of which got twisted with how fast Cecil was moving.

“The audition for that movie!” he responded. “I am going to be late if I don’t leave _right_ now.”

Pretending not to care, Camus turned back to the paper. “Better leave now, then. And do try to wake up earlier next time so you won’t find yourself in this predicament again.”

“Why didn’t _you_ wake me up?” Cecil whined, shoving his feet into a pair of sandals.

 _Because you look so handsome when you sleep and I would have felt bad._ “Because that’s not my responsibility. You need to learn to manage your own time and take care of your duties without my help.”

Too distracted to argue, Cecil merely grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He hopped over to Camus, pressing a kiss to his temple that the count reluctantly leaned into. “Have a good day today.”

“Hm. You as well.”

“Oh, Camus!” the prince called out while he had one foot out the door. “One more thing!”

Camus looked up. “Hm?”

“I love you, too!”

Cecil spun on his heel and closed the door behind him, the slamming of which masked the shattering of the teacup that Camus dropped.


End file.
